Watching You
by DeedeeSmith
Summary: You see, the bad guys have bullets, knives, or potions that can hurt them. Dean, he has a brother.
1. Chapter 1

Set: After Asylum Prologue:  
Dean Winchester isn't afraid of anything. I've known him since he was born and on a hunt he lives in his own little world, a protective bubble of toughness and sarcasm. I've seen it it's quite impressive, actually. Anything he's ever faced has seen the cold, almost comical look in his eyes as he takes them down. I could never shoot something in the face with that little emotion. Don't get me wrong, I kill things…I'm not exactly what you would call a saint. In fact Dean is after me right now. I hate to say it, but I'm not one of the good guys.

The trick is to know your enemies weakness, and that's exactly what Dean does. He finds their weakness, and uses it against them. It works, it always has. He's killed more evil sons-of-bitches then he can count, and he's damn proud. I'm damn proud, to tell you the truth. He is a good guy, a hero, nauseatingly Indiana Jones like. They, the bad guys, all have something, a curse, a spell, or an object, something that knocks them out for good. No one is a perfect hunter. Except maybe Dean. It's striking; he might actually be a better hunter then me. Maybe.

He's taken on big bastards before, hugely evil guys, and he's always won. He's taken some hits along the way, but the fact that he's still standing puts him above all the evil he's faced. That's because they all have something, a mirror, water, or a bullet that can bring them down. However, Dean does have something. One thing, one solitary thing, one hole in his steel wall of self-preservation. You see, the difference between the good guys and the bad guys is the bad guys have something they can die from, the good guys have something they'd die_ for_.

It's cold, really cold out and I've been standing here for hours. I saw the two of them climbing out of the car, Dean loves that car, saw Dean walk stiffly past his brother. That wasn't like him, it wasn't like him to not joke, to not be swaggering after a fight, they had obviously won but Dean looked hurt. Not physically, of course, but in some other way he looked like he was in pain. Something had gotten to him. Something had penetrated his wall, but what was powerful enough to do that? Or should I ask, who?

They walked into that seedy motel, the paint was practically jumping off of the walls. I saw them from where I sat in the shadows, in the cold. I saw the soft glow of pale lamplight from their window. I sat there all night, watching them. Imagining what they were saying inside that motel room, w hat had happened tonight, what they had killed, what they had gone through. What had happened to Dean, what had hurt him? It couldn't have been a monster; no creature could make Dean walk like that. Walk with his head down, his arm limp at his side, nothing of his personality shone through in his stride. He was wincing, maybe something had happened to physically hurt him, maybe…but there was something else.

I have seen Dean hurt before, really, really hurt. Physically I mean, but not like this. This was something I'd never seen before, or something he had never shown me. Whatever had happened had hurt him deeper then any knife or bullet could. Something had found his weakness, the hole in the steel, his Achilles heel.

Like I said before, there is a difference between the good guys and the bad guys. Dean is a good guy, even though he seems tough on the outside he helps people, it's what he does. He doesn't think of himself in that dark basement, cellar, alleyway, or whatever other dark place he goes into. Wherever he ventures gun raised he does it to stop the evil. That makes him a good guy, good for the sake of good and for love. Love of his dead mother, I know all about that, everyone in my circle does. The bad guys do evil for the sake of evil that makes them the bad guys. But they can be stopped; they can be killed by the good guys, light chases away dark, et cetera, et cetera. I won't bore you, you know how it works.

The weaknesses that the bad guys have are corporeal, something that hurts them, kills them physically. For the good guys it's an emotional thing. Something that gets them where it really hurts, in the heart. Don't get me wrong, good guys can bite a bullet too, but they're easier to bring down once you know how to hurt them. These hero types are tough, they've got an emotional barrier, but everyone has a breaking point. I've seen Dean at his, I've been there for his entire life. Watching him, seeing him slowly put up his wall, only a few times before have I seen him get knocked out, emotionally that is. I saw it the night of the fire, even the night his brother left him. It takes him completely off guard, and I can see it in his eyes that his wall just fell down. But time is the true panacea and he always put it back up.

Tonight I saw that body language again. He walked like a beaten Doberman; a once top dog was knocked out of his place. Something had happened, something big. I saw Dean leave the motel room alone at four in the morning, a bag in his hand. I saw him start his beloved Impala, but he didn't drive off. Of course he didn't, Sam was still inside the motel.I heard the dull throbbing of music that was turned up way too loud. I saw his head drop to his chest and was certain something horrible had happened. I've known him for his entire life, yet tears were always something he hid.Had his brother left him? No, that couldn't be it, yet I was certain that it had something to do with the boy. That's his one weakness. You see, the bad guys have bullets, knives, or potions that can hurt them. Dean... he has a brother.


	2. The Walking Dead

My name is Dean Winchester, and I am a dead man. Seriously, you might not believe me, but the fact that I'm still breathing doesn't disprove my statement. My brother shot me in the chest tonight, his invisible bullet ripping through my heart. _Sammy, don't shoot! Sammy, it's me! _

I was murdered, by my own brother as soon as I heard the empty gun click.

_Sammy, it's me…it's Dean! _I was hurt, physically, I was shot with rock salt, by Sammy, might I add; but the most pain I felt tonight came from those invisible bullets. They killed me. Everything I had was gone. The reason I was alive was ripped from me.

_You really want me dead then?_ I was still breathing because of Sammy. I was still alive so I could make sure everything would turn out alright for him, to fulfill many fearful promises I had made when we were younger.

_You'd really shoot me? Just like that? _I know I don't show it sometimes Sammy, but you're my brother, and I love you. I would do anything for you, damn, I _have _done everything for you.

_I mean that little to you? _Remember all those times when we were younger that I protected you? How many times had your scared little voice called out in the dark for me? Over a hundred. And how many times had I answered? _Every time._ I love you Sammy and I would do anything to protect you.

_You want me dead? _I guess you don't care then, don't care about me giving up my childhood to take care of you. You don't care that I was four going on thirty the moment I held you in my arms. Hell, if Mom hadn't died I still would protect you from everything.

_You'd shoot me in the chest? _You're my little brother, and I love you. I've only loved you, Mom, and Dad. And think about it, Mom is dead. No way around that one.

_Your own brother_. She left us when we were too small to realize what a hole she left in out lives. What a hole she left in our father. And speaking of Dad, dear old Dad. I did everything he ever asked of me, **everything**, and he still left me. Abondoned me and didn't even look back! I'm not important to him either. He doesn't love me either. I'm just this family's door mat. So desperate to know that someone values me. That's why I'm a good little soldier, Sammy. Seeing as you asked.

You left me too before, as I recall. But then I knew it was just because of your burning desire to be normal. I never thought you hated me, I never thought that I was one of the reasons why you left. I guess I really am the dumb one.

_Damn it Sammy, it's me! _But at least I had you, my little brother who I had shielded since he was born. He still loved me, he would care if I died, and he would ditch his perfect life and come looking for me if I ever disappeared. I know it's mushy, but I needed to know that. Needed to know that I mattered, to someone. And you were it Sammy, you were my last lifeline.

_'__Click' _but now, I don't even have you.

"Where are you going?" I heard you ask it, and the sound of your voice made me want to put my head through a wall,

"Out" I snapped. I didn't mean it the way it sounded, or maybe I did. Maybe a little. Still, when I saw the slight hurt in your eyes I cursed myself for causing it and slammed out of the motel room, angry at you, angry at myself, angry at the world. I jumped in my car, and turned up my music, letting the power chords strip me of my emotion. Rob me of my feelings. It had always worked before. Anytime I was feeling down, some heavy guitar would pound it out of me. Not this time. No, this time I still felt the dull ache in my chest where my heart should have been, if you hadn't put a hole through it. I pounded my hands on the steering wheel, and tried to beat the anger and sadness out of me. It didn't work. I seriously considered driving off right then and there. No warning, just take off. Maybe right off a cliff. But you and I both know I would never do that. Because even though you killed me tonight, I have to protect you tomorrow. Those damned feelings, dead people aren't supposed to have feelings, but they were plaguing me just the same. I couldn't drive them out with music. Or pound them out with my fists. There was only one other way.

God, how stupid I felt, sitting in my kick-ass car, bawling like a baby. I hadn't meant to cry that much, I didn't know I _could_ cry that much. But after I admitted to myself that after you, I had nothing left, I couldn't stop crying. And I'll kill you if you ever tell anyone about this. Damn, I was glad no one could see me. It started out small, and then I just kept thinking. If you could have killed me tonight, you would have. Every bit of love I had bestowed upon you was meaningless; you couldn't care less about me. Damn, my last lifeline was cut.

I hate to sound so needy, but I guess that's just how I feel. At least, that's how I felt when my entire body was racked with sobs. I would have laughed at myself, if I wasn't so damned miserable. I don't know how long I sat in there, my head in my hands, shaking uncontrollably, but you didn't come out of the motel room, Sammy. You didn't come to check on me. But...what should I have expected? I guess I should start calling you Sam now. You weren't my Sammy anymore, and you never will be again. And that, more then anything made me want to rip out what was left of my heart. Seriously, I must sound like a chick right now, but it's true.

You were it…Sam. You were the last thing I was breathing for. But you shot me, at point-blank range, like I was your enemy. Me, the brother that had always been there, I would die for you Sam. If you wanted me dead, dead I was going to be. So I won't complain anymore about the hole in my heart, that was already ripped in two. I will protect you like I always have. You'll always be safe when you're with me. It's just any emotion has been taken out of it, all the anger and the saddness. I think I sobbed all of it out. I don't forgive you Sam. I can't forgive you for killing me. Not just yet. But I'll always be there for you, your brother. The one you killed without any bullets. The walking dead.


	3. The Murderer

My name is Sam Winchester and I'm a murderer. I shot my brother in the chest tonight. He didn't see it coming, I didn't either. But he deserved it.

_You never stand your ground! You play the part of the tough guy, but Dad pushes you around! _I can honestly say I've never been that angry before, I know it was the Dr's fault, but it kinda felt good to let it out.

_You could have gotten out! _To finally let Dean know what I was thinking, how I felt. I'm not as good at bottling things up as Dean is. I had to tell him, I _had _to. Something unnatural was pushing those hateful words from my mouth.

_You just let Dad walk all over you! _I wasn't going to kill him, not until he handed me the gun. That bright, shiny gun. That was my ticket out, my ticket away from Dean, away from Dad, away from the Winchester way of life. And Dean was handing it right to me.

_You want to do this for the rest of your life?_ I couldn't believe it, he was handing me himself in a box, it was too perfect. I always knew Dean would die for me, but he would let me kill him?

_You want to be Dad's doormat forever? _He was staring at me with cool, cocky eyes. He wanted me to do it, I knew it. He was daring me to pull the trigger with those eyes of his that only infuriated me further. So I did it. I pulled the trigger.

'_Click' _but as soon as that noise echoed, proving the absence of bullets Dean's confidence left his eyes. And for a split moment he just looked at me. He was hurt, he didn't believe I would do it, that I could do it, but I did. He looked at me, and I knew what he was thinking, _Sammy…why?_ Then he knocked me out. He made it better; he beat the bad guys, just like he always did. He was the hero…again. He always was the hero, and the miasma of resentment that was following me around grew darker and more turbulent. It followed me all the way back to our motel.

"Where are you going?" I wanted to know, he had said he was tired, he just wanted some sleep. Now he was up and leaving,

"Out" his voice was full of venom and it stung. So I didn't follow him. He slammed the door forcefully and I winced. This was going to be a long night. Guilt is my new best friend I guess, it follows me around wherever I go. Guilt and his older brother anger. I didn't want to shoot him. I just wanted him to see. I know that I shot him; I know that he took it hard, but honestly I don't regret it. What a horrible brother I am, I don't regret pulling the trigger on Dean, especially since it was empty. I regret the look in his eyes, the _how could you?_ Look. I wanted to shrivel up and die on the spot right then and there. But pulling the trigger? No, I don't regret that. I was just so angry, so enraged, and the look in his eyes was so infuriating I...I can't explain it. I was riding on a high of pure unadulterated hatred. I still haven't come down from that dizzying feeling. He left the room; I guess he couldn't stand to be in the same room with me. I don't blame him.

I wish I felt bad about trying to kill him. Felt bad like I should. I wish I wanted to rip my heart out and plead for forgiveness from my only brother, but the anger is still swirling around in my head blocking out all thoughts of reconciliation. I flung myself onto the bed and clenched my eyes shut trying to get his eyes out of my head. In the haze of ire his hurt eyes cut through the fog and looked at me. I wish they wouldn't look at me. He seemed so disbelieving, he couldn't fathom that I would do that, would shoot him. I couldn't believe it myself at first, I shot Dean, my Dean. I was just so _angry_.

I can't explain it, everything Dean had ever done for me melted away and all I could think about was the harm he had caused. All those times I had wished I didn't have an older brother, or a dad, that I was a normal boy, or even an orphan. I'm ashamed of those thoughts now, but it's how I felt and I couldn't deny the boiling resentment that was building up inside of me. If I was someone else, I would have a mom. If I was someone else, Jess would still be alive. If Dean wasn't my brother I would be someone else.

It's twisted logic, I know, but I put all of my fear, my hatred, and my loneliness into Dean. And then I shot all those feelings. Killed them, killed Dean. As I thought about it the haze of anger was wearing off slowly leaving me with a headache and I sat up, looking out the window to see if I could see Dean. I pulled back the curtains that smelled like smoke and stale liquor and peered out. I saw the Impala sitting in the parking lot with the lights on and the music blaring. I could feel the power chords from where I stood. I strained my eyes to see Dean, and when I did see him, I wished I didn't.

I couldn't believe what I saw, Dean was broken, he was crying. My Dean, Mr. Tough Guy, was sobbing. And it was my fault. Ever since I was little I was convinced that nothing could affect Dean, when I cried at the littlest things, he always made the tears stop. And looking back on it, I've never seen Dean cry…ever. I've seen the red puffy eyes but it was always put off by a "shut up Sammy." I tried to think that he might be sad for some other reason, but that was an exercise in futility, my rock was dissolving, and it was all my fault. _Damn._

I contemplated going out to the car. Telling him I was sorry, even if I didn't mean it entirely. At the sight of Dean so depressed the mist that had been hovering over my head finally cleared and I wasn't angry anymore. Anger abandoned me and left me with guilt, and his girlfriend, fear. Oh God, I shot Dean. I shot him, in the chest, I tried to kill him, oh, god, oh, god. Suddenly it was harder to breathe. Man, we must be the most dysfunctional brothers ever, you sitting in your car raked with tears, me on a shitty motel bed raked with guilt. Yet neither of us would talk about it. Damn it Dean, I didn't mean it, I didn't…yes I did. Oh, God. I did mean it, but I didn't _mean it. _Oh, to make you understand you were everything to me…are, you are everything to me. You are my big brother. You have always been there, oh god…I shot you. I'm sorry Dean, I'm so, so sorry. If only there was a way to tell you how sorry I am. Oh, Dean…please forgive me.

Coming soon: The one in the bushes sees the brothers as they finally talk….


	4. I Didn't Mean It

It's been a good half an hour now, of me sitting in these God forgotten bushes. I've seen no change since the younger brother poked his head out behind the curtain. I wasn't close enough to see, but there was something in his eyes, something I didn't like.

Dean had lifted his head, wiping his eyes slowly, I saw him take a few deep breaths, and try to shake himself out of it. It was no use, just as he thought he beat the tears, down they fell again. He was becoming frustrated with himself, and he looked ashamed. Ashamed of showing such emotion, even if he thought he was alone. That doesn't surprise me; he's always been so guarded, so tough. You'd think the boy was made of stone, but no…poor Dean, he seems to have sprung a leak.

Finally I heard the door squeak, and darting my eyes towards the noise I saw the taller brother stepping out tentatively into the parking lot, his head bowed. Now I was sure that Dean's current state had something to do with Sam. He looked guilty. Looked like a badly beaten dog, with his tail between his legs. I saw him walk as if he was made of molasses up to the car window. He took a deep breath before he knocked, as if to make sure he was doing the right thing. Once he did knock, he had crossed the Rubicon, there was no going back.

I was too far away to hear what Dean said when he saw his brother, but I didn't miss his surprise. He flung open the drivers side door and tumbled out, landing on his knees. He slowly stood back up, his back to his brother. I saw him hide his face as he wiped his eyes furiously, cursing the tears that left him so damn vulnerable. I couldn't hear what Sam said at first, he motioned his hand towards Dean and started to walk towards his brother, but Dean held up his hand in protest and refused to let Sam come any closer, still hiding his tears. I couldn't take it anymore, not being able to hear. It was like watching the climax to a good movie with the mute on.

I slowly moved closer to the boys, I was just on the edge of the parking lot, I hadn't made any noise but I was convinced that they would see me, if only they looked away from each other. I doubted that would happen. Now, at long last, I could hear what they were saying. I was so close I could see the anguish in Sam's features as he stared at his brother, feebly pleading to him to look up. I heard Dean's muffled voice, but I couldn't make out what he was saying,

"What was that?" Sam asked, apparently he hadn't heard either. Dean heaved a sigh and lifted his head, finally allowing his face to show. His eyes were rimmed with red, and the tears had left a tell-tale mark on his cheeks.

"I said I'm _fine_" he said between gritted teeth, the obvious hiccup in his voice was probably the tears doing as well.

"No you're not" Sam said inching closer to his brother, but they were still separated by the car. "Why won't you just admit it? Just tell me Dean!" His voice was shaking, dangerously close to a frustrated yell. Dean just stared at Sam for a moment; I saw something in his eyes, something that made me feel for the boy. Some hidden, dark emotion that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

"You want me to tell you?" He asked, his own words seeming hollow. Somehow it was like the real Dean had left, been blown away with whatever had happened tonight. I was aching to hear what Sam had done, dying to know how he had brought Dean down.

"Yeah" Sam said swallowing hard. He cleared his throat awkwardly and looked at his brother, his eyes had pleading in them, but also trace amounts of anger, and that scared me. Dean shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying very hard not to start crying again. He let out a shaky breath and nodded,

"Well, you killed me" he said. Sam just stood there, like the wind had been knocked out of him. He went to speak all too quickly again,

"Dean there were no bullets in the g-" He was silenced mid word by his brother's stony glare,

"Oh, yes there were, Sam" he said coldly, his voice sounding distant. So, Sam had shot Dean? Then where was the bullet hole? Where was the blood? I didn't see anything, nothing but the wound that was visible only through his eyes.

"Dean, I…" Sam faltered; apparently he had seen the wound too. He couldn't look at his brother and his dipped his head, I saw him clench his eyes shut tightly as if he was in physical pain, before he looked back up again, "I'm sorry." The words were flat, they seemed to drop to the ground at Dean's feet, yet Dean seemed unmoved. In fact, behind the tears, behind the pain, I saw anger in his eyes again.

"Sorry? You're Sorry? You _shot_ me, Sam, you wanted to kill me! You would have killed me!" His voice was shaking too, and I had a feeling a dam had just broken down, here came the flood waters from hell.

"I didn't mean it!" Sam said, "that ghost, he had a hold on me, Dean! I didn't…I didn't mean it." Dean studied his brother's face, his eyes not leaving it as he walked around the car, now nothing separated him from his brother.

"Yes you did" he said steadily, as if he was sure. As if he _knew._ Sam looked at him, shock in his eyes,

"No, Dean…I would never, not willingly…" Sam grasped vainly for ground to stand on as Dean stared him down.

"You can say it, Sammy" Dean said backing up a little bit, the cocky smirk appearing on his face again. "You can say that you hate me, I don't mind." He said, he sounded as if this was just any other conversation, as if it didn't matter whether Sam liked him or not…whether Sam _loved_ him or not. I knew it mattered, I knew it mattered a lot.

"I don't hate you" Sam said softly, as if he was a small child pleading with his big eyes for Dean to forgive him.

"Then why'd you shoot me?" Dean asked the anger growing in his voice, on par with the misery. "If you love me so much, why would you want to kill me?" Sam's eyes grew wide. He looked as if he had been trying to figure out the answer to Dean's question his entire life.

"I told you…the Dr. The ghost, Dean" he said feebly. I didn't believe him, and apparently neither did Dean.

"Bullshit" Dean hissed tearing his eyes off of Sam for a moment. In that momentI saw something happen to the boy, his features hardened, his jaw was set in an angry line, his fiery eyes narrowed.

"Fine" he said callously, clenching his fists at his side. "I shot you because I wanted you dead" he said flatly. He seemed pleased when he saw Dean's head jerk back up, his eyes staring straight at his brother as if he had never seen him before in his life. "I wanted you out of my life; I wanted Dad out of my life. In fact, I didn't even want my life. I just wanted out." Dean drew in a long breath, and from where I stood I could see the tears in his eyes once more. "I didn't want to hurt you, but I didn't care anymore. I didn't care about you, or Dad and his mission, I didn't care about Mom, or what had killed her. I just didn't want to be a Winchester anymore!" At the mention of his mother I saw Dean's eyes get clouded with rage, his lips were pressed into a fine line, his hands made into fists. He marched closer to Sam, and in Sam's eyes I saw a hint of fear. And rightfully so.

"You don't mean that" Dean said, biting his lip. Sam's whole body was shaking now, his fists at the ready,

"I'm tired of you telling me how to feel" Sam barked harshly. His mind was clouded with his temper, and I saw the punch coming, even before Dean did. It was a hard punch, after all, Sam was a hunter too, he made contact with Dean's face and before I could blink Dean was on the pavement, his lip bleeding, wondering what had happened. Sam stood above him, breathing heavily. He looked ready to battle. Dean picked himself off of the ground at an agonizingly slow rate. Once he was finally on his feet again he wiped the blood from his chin on his jacked and sighed,

"I'm not going to fight you, Sammy" he said as if talking caused him pain. Sam's shook his head heatedly,

"Don't call me that! I'm not Sammy anymore!" He yelled before he could stop himself. I saw a look in Dean's eyes that was truly pitiable. He looked like Sam had ripped out his heart and ground it into the pavement with the heel of his shoe. He heaved a heavy sigh and nodded,

"I know" he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a formidable looking gun. Sam backed up when he saw Dean draw it, but Dean laughed a little, it was a heartbreaking noise. "I'm not going to shoot you" he said calmly turning the gun towards himself so that the handle was facing Sam. He extended it to his brother and nodded, urging him to take it. Sam grasped the handle reluctantly, eyebrows raised.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" He asked a slight stutter in his voice revealed his nerves.

"Go ahead" Dean said backing three feet away from Sam. He spread open his arms and smiled, "this one's loaded, and I'm a sitting duck."

I saw the conflict in Sam's eyes as he looked from the gun to his brother and back again. I saw the hairs on his neck stand up as he realized the power he held in his hand. His hand was shaking, he was obviously angry, sad, terrified, and nervous all balled into one horribly bad emotion. Dean however, was standing calmly a short distance away, his arms still spread, and his smile still confident as he waited for Sam to make his decision.

I honestly didn't know what Sam was going to do, how he was going to react. However, there was this little part of my heart that was screaming at Sam to put the gun down. That part was blocked out by the sound of the gunshot.

I saw Dean's shocked face as his hand flew to his wound, the blood pouring from him in a sickening sea of red. Staining his shirt and his jacket. He didn't fall down at once; he just looked at his left shoulder, where the bullet was lodged with disbelieving eyes.

"Sammy?" He asked quietly, all the characteristic strength and confidence drained from his voice. After that, he crumpled to the ground, defeated. My eyes flew to the other brother who was still standing where he had shot, gun still in the air. He was breathing hard, his face distorted in a look of rage. That is, until he heard his name. At the sound of Dean's voice Sam seemed to snap back from wherever the hell his mind had been for the past argument and all other emotions left as fear flooded his eyes. He dropped the gun carelessly and ran to his brother's side.

"Oh, God, Dean" Sam cried out shaking his brother's shoulder. He was loosing blood fast and for a moment Sam forgot what it was he was supposed to do. He just cradled his unconscious brother, willing him to wake up. In the stillness of the night air I heard his pitiful whisper in his brother's ear. In the silence left after the blast I heard the heartbreak in his voice as he finally meant what he said, "Oh, God Dean…I'm so sorry."

Coming soon...chapter 5


	5. Do You Know a Sammy?

**A/N: I know it's Dean's turn to voice his views, but considering his condition I'm just going to skip right over to Sam.**

I hate hospitals. I don't know why, I guess it was just burned into my brain at an early age. Hospitals cost money, they ask too many questions, and besides, they couldn't do anything more then Dad or Dean could to help. However, sitting on the cold, broken blacktop, Dean's limp body in my arms, I knew that's exactly where we were going. My hands were shaking too bad to patch him up, and if he died…no. No I wasn't going to let myself think like that.

The disembodied voice didn't change the situation. It scared the crap out of me, but it sounded vaguely familiar as it hissed 'hospital' in the cold. Urging me to take care of Dean. I had gotten him into this mess, I would make damn sure that he would get out. I thought I was going crazy, was hearing things, I probably was. It was probably my own way of coming up with the justification I needed to be able to take Dean there, he hated hospitals as much as I did. It's Psyche 101. He wouldn't like waking up in the hospital, but at least there he'd be waking up.

I tried not to think about the fact that this was my fault, as I loaded my brother into the backseat of his car. When did he get so damn heavy? When did it get so hard to look at him? I had to fish the keys out of his pocket before I could bring his baby to life. Knowing full well that if he had been conscious he would have slapped me upside my head for trying to drive. I felt sick, seeing him lying there, blood stains covering his jacket, knowing it was my fault. I almost wanted him to hit me…no, I did want him to jump right up and pound me into the ground. _Don't die Dean, please._

I drove like a madman, a madman with a mission, Dean was going to live, and then he was going to kick my ass. I can't explain it, can't deny it, in that split moment when I pulled the trigger, I hated my brother. Looking back, I don't see how that is possible. Dean had only ever tried to help me, tried to protect me, and tried to love me. And I hated him. I hate myself for thinking like that, but to me Dean was hunting personified, the entire part of my life that I didn't want, and that I couldn't deal with. I couldn't take the anger anymore, it was almost physically painful, and I felt like, if I could just kill Dean then all the guilt, grief, and rage that seems to follow me around would just go away. And people say I'm the smart one.

Looking over my shoulder into the backseat, Dean isn't moving. He's not fighting. I've seen him hurt in more ways then anyone should be hurt, but he always struggles with the pain, fights back unconsciousness, wills away the darkness. But he was just lying there, he wasn't even trying. I hate to think that that might have something to do with me. I had to get him to the hospital, had to make him understand.

The twists and turns of the road were taunting me, if the road was just a straight shot we'd be there by now. I'd be distracted by the blinking lights, the shouts of doctors and patients, but no, now it was just me and my thoughts. I think I understand why Dean likes music that's loud enough to pull the skin off your face. If the music was just loud enough, he wouldn't have to think, wouldn't have to feel. I contemplated putting in one of his tapes, but the thought was quickly erased by the fact that Dean would kill me. He's probably going to kill me anyway. God, if only I could make him know how sorry I am. _Then why'd you shoot him again?_ I hate that voice, the one that tells me I'm wrong, that I'm to blame. I hate it more then anything…especially when it's right.

Finally, mercifully, I saw the distant form of a large, sterile building. I looked back at Dean, his eyes were still closed, his breathing was still shallow, but he had gotten through worse. One bullet didn't compare to a demon's claws, or a creatures bite, and he had sustained both of those, multiple times. If only he'd just fight it.

I didn't answer a single question as the nurses wheeled out a gurney and roughly flung him on it. They were talking too fast, rapidly demanding an explanation that I didn't have. They looked as if they saw this sort of thing everyday, a man pulling up in a chick magnet of a car, his brother with a hole in his shoulder in the back. They kept asking questions, damned questions. They were walking too fast, pushing through doors, sticking needles in Dean's arm. What the hell were those needles for? Finally, they pushed him through the ER doors, but they wouldn't let me follow him. I was left in the waiting area with a headache.

"What happened?" One elderly nurse asked, as sweat dripped from her graying hairline. She was barking some orders to some younger looking nurses and tapping a pen against a clipboard rapidly. Writing scribbles of notes that hardly looked important. She looked impatiently at me, as if I was wasting her valuable time. Well, she was wasting mine. She wasn't helping Dean. He had long since disappeared through those formidable white double doors, two stern looking doctors wheeling him through.

"He was shot" I replied irritated. He had a hole in his shoulder, what the hell did she think had happened? She looked up at me her lips pressed into a firm line.

"Yes, I saw" she said tapping her foot impatiently at me, as if she expected me to say something to explain the situation my brother was in, but I couldn't. I couldn't get the words past my lips and it was driving me crazy. I couldn't look at her; she made my stomach twist itself into knots, her accusing eyes. I felt like she knew, somehow she saw what had happened. I ducked my head and turned away from her letting out a shaky sob, I couldn't suppress my plea any longer,

"Oh, God, please." I sounded so weak, so broken. I couldn't help it, Dean was in the hands of some very bright people…but what if it wasn't enough? What if he died? What if it was my fault? I looked around for anything to lean on, something to stabilize my spinning head. I found a crappy plastic chair. We were in some nondescript waiting room, with humming florescent lights and coughing patients waiting to be helped. I couldn't see straight, I was just overcome. Dad would love that, seeing a Winchester break down. Dean would laugh his ass off if he saw me, Dean…_damn._ I heard the screech of chair legs against the dirty tile floors, but I couldn't look up.

"Okay, what really happened?" It was that damned nurse again her cold, accusing eyes softened a little. I saw something in her eyes that made my hair bristle…pity. I didn't need her pity; I didn't need this hospital…_where the hell is Dean?_

"I told you" I managed to gasp out, hot tears burning to the surface, but I wouldn't let them fall, not in front of her.

"Who is this guy that you brought in?" She asked flipping the page on her clipboard, staring over it unapologetically at me. Who is this guy? He's…he's, Dean. He's my big brother, my protector, my rock. He's got a bullet hole in his shoulder that I put there. He's all that I have left.

"My brother" I said, with as little emotion as I could manage. I still ended up sounding afraid, alone, weak. She let out a little sigh and leaned in closer to me. Her wrinkles seemed deeper, her skin, older, somehow she seemed like she had aged in the past four minutes.

"Tell me what happened" she said, it was an order. Who did she think she was? She couldn't order me around; she couldn't force anything out of me.

"I don't k now" I barked, giving her the best imitation of Dean's cold, authoritative look as I could. She seemed hardly fazed.

"When you found your brother, had he already been shot?" She asked. _No, not exactly._ I thought, he had been shot in the heart, but not by bullets. At least not by real ones.

"Yeah" I choked out, my voice sounded strangled, I tried to mask my worry, but I couldn't. I don't know how Dean can seem so cold and distant, even under such major stress. I'll have to work on that.

"Mmm, hmm" she replied her eyebrows raised, she didn't believe me. But hell, in her position I wouldn't believe me either. "How long has he been like this?" She asked, and I'm ashamed to think, I honestly don't know. The last few…hours? Has it been hours? All I could think about was how Dean might die, how it would be my fault. What the hell would I do if Dean died? How could I possibly continue? I'm out of practice; I don't have the emotional strength to go it alone. _Damn it Dean, I can't do this without you. _I don't know how Dean does it, he's just different from me, he can take it…he's just, stronger. I hate to admit it, but it's true, he always has been. I've never seen a job get to him. Except maybe when we were little and I was in trouble, or had made some stupid mistake. Come to think of it, the only times I've ever seen anything in Dean's eyes besides cold determination, was when I was at risk, and that's when I saw his fear. The only times I've ever heard anything in his voice besides sarcasm and confidence was when I heard him call out, "Sammy" in the dark, in the cold, or in whatever scary situation we'd ever been in. And that's when I heard his fear…but that was it. He needed to know I was safe, and that was what kept him so…so…Dean-like. It was beyond description, it was just Dean. I had lost the nurse's question, but when she looked at me with those narrow, critical eyes I shook my head.

"I-I don't know" I said and she sighed and stood up abruptly. Apparently, she was convinced I would be of no further help, and was a waste of space. She pulled away the chair she had pulled up and glowered at me,

"We'll let you know if there's any progress." She said as if she was the most important person in the hospital…well she wasn't, that was Dean. I mentally added this woman to the list of reasons why I hate hospitals, as I watched her walk away. I couldn't take it anymore, the pressure, the guilt, the anxiety. I felt so stupid, my head in my hands, my elbows on my knees, I was gripping my hair so tightly I thought I was going to go bald. I felt eyes on me, but I didn't care, I couldn't look up, I was afraid that if I met anyone's gaze I would completely break down. I don't know how long I sat there, on the verge of tears, it must have been a while. The only thing that brought me back from the guilt and fear was a voice.

"Excuse me" I heard my saving grace above me, it was saccharine sounding, almost grandfatherly, and it made me lift my head. There was an elderly man standing in front of me with a lab coat on and a name tag that said Dr. John Sator. My eyes must have been red as Rudolph's nose, but thedoctor didn't even blink. "Is your brother a Dean Winchester?" He asked a slight hint of importance in his voice. He didn't sound ostentatious and I liked him immediately.

"Uh –yeah" I said rubbing my eyes roughly trying to dispel any emotion from my face, I couldn't do it, the pain shone through and I knew the Dr. saw it.

"He's awake..." so _that's_ how they knew his name. I was relieved that he was awake, that he was alive.

"How is he?" I asked before Dr. Savior could continue. He laughed a little to himself and shook his head, his perfect teeth flashing across his face.

"He's…he's, awake." He replied, he didn't look worried, but apparently he had had a conversation with Dean. "He's not too happy about being here, I can tell you that." I smiled in spite of myself, I had called that one.

"But he's okay?" I asked, my voice still wavering a little.

"He's pretty banged up" he said pulling out a clipboard and flipping through some thin white papers, "He's got the bullet wound, but that should be healed up pretty quickly, it missed everything vital and it basically just caused tissue damage. He also had some other injuries that we did not expect." I could hear the tension in his voice as he rubbed his forehead nervously, letting out a low breath. "He had a few cracked ribs, and some extensive bruising throughout his abdomen. At first we didn't know how that could have occurred, but when we examined him further we found bits of…salt, inside of his chest." I took a deep breath, sinking my head low again; I couldn't lie to this man, and look him in the eye. "Do you have any idea how rock salt could have gotten into your brother?" _Yeah, I shot him with it._

"No." I said looking up at him nervously, my hands were shaking, and I couldn't get them to stop. He raised his eyebrows but didn't press the issue any further.

"Alright. We had to flush his wounds…"

"I bet he liked that" I mumbled and the Dr. grinned and shook his head,

"Yeah, we bandaged him up and gave him some painkillers to keep him happy; he looks like he hasn't slept in weeks, so hopefully he'll get some rest. He's a strong boy, I'm confident that he'll be fine." I heaved a sigh of relief and nodded standing up. I knew it, Dean had to be okay, and he wouldn't be Dean if he wasn't.

"Can I see him?" I asked and the Doctor furrowed his brow but nodded,

"He's going to be a little groggy; he might not speak clearly, but sure, right this way." I followed him down an endless white corridor with blaring white lights, and sterile, blue walls. He led me to room 1246 with a small window that was too fuzzy to see through. Dr. Savior reached for the doorknob but before he turned it he turned to me, "do you know a Sammy?" He asked and my heart almost stopped.

"W-why?" I asked hesitantly and he raised his eyebrows, giving me a skeptical look.

"Well, when he woke up at first he was screaming for someone named Sammy." I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. Now I really felt like an unworthy piece of crap. Of course he was calling out for me, he was always calling out for Sammy.

"Oh" that was all I could say. I had shot him in the shoulder tonight, not to mention the rock salt, or the fake bullets that hurt him deeper then I could have imagined. I had tried to kill him three times in one night, yet when he woke up he was still calling out for me. Still trying to make sure I was okay. God, I love him, and I hate him, and he's …my brother.

"So, do you know a Sammy?" He asked me again and I looked from the Doctor to the room and back again. The Sammy Dean knew would never have done what I've done, the Sammy Dean loved would never see his brother, his hero in front of him, and pull that damned trigger. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath, trying to answer levelly.

"No, sorry."


	6. Sammy and Dean

**A/N: Okay, here's Dean Point of view, the watcher is coming up next. **

I hate hospitals. They're full of sick people, germs, and they smell like death. Not the kind of death I get a whiff of every once and awhile. Not the exciting, sweaty, warrior's death that I face on almost every hunt. No, this is the death of old people, of children, of innocents. The slow, inevitable "go towards the light" kind of death that freaks me out. The kind of death I can't do a damn thing to stop. I never want to die like that, helpless in a hospital bed. If I'm going out it's gonna be in a blaze of fire, and I'm taking some evil son-of-a-bitch with me. So, forgive me if I seem a little miffed about waking up in this place.

My mind was reeling; my memory hazy, and the first thing I thought of was instinctual. Where was my little brother? In the white-ness of the hospital, I heard more voices then a schizophrenic, but I didn't hear Sam. What had happened to him? If I was in the hospital, of all places, it had to be bad…where the hell was he?

"Sammy?" I couldn't help yelling out, I tried to sit up but there was this pain in my shoulder that screamed at me to lie back down. I felt a firm hand on my arm and I looked up to see an elderly man taking my pulse.

"It's okay" he said, like one of those stupid yoga teachers, who just wanted me to relax…Well, I couldn't relax! I had no idea where my brother was, or why I was in the hospital! I hate not knowing what's going on.

They wheeled me into this room, and put me on this horribly cold metal table, the man who had been taking my pulse was there, along with people in scrubs…oh God, was I going into surgery? Was I going to die? No, I couldn't die; I didn't know where Sammy was! The last thing I remember from then is the plastic mask going over my face, and I was out like a light. Best sleep I've gotten in months. Too bad I had to be medicated to get it.

When I finally came to again, the same elderly man was in a small, bland room with me, scanning a clipboard with his watery blue eyes.

"Where the hell am I?" I asked my heart racing. The old man didn't seem surprised as he slowly finished reading whatever the hell was on that clipboard and looked over at me.

"You're in St. Lucy's Memorial Hospital" he said, as if he was proud of the name. I sighed and decided to rephrase,

"Where the hell is that?" I asked, my voice sounding harsher then I meant. He tucked his clipboard under his arm and smiled at me,

"You, need to get some sleep." He said, ignoring my question like I was a five year old. He aggravated me immediately.

"I _need_ to get some answers" I spat back trying to sit up again, finding that it almost didn't hurt at all this time. I looked over and noticed that practically my whole body from my shoulder to my belly-button was wrapped in bandages. I could see the discoloration of the bruises in some spots and decided I must be on something for this to not hurt like hell. I noticed the IV in my wrist and silently thanked the painkiller gods.

"You were brought in by your brother; you'd been shot in the shoulder." He said as if it was a normal thing to say. After that the memories flooded back all at once, the cold look in Sammy's eyes, the sound of the gunshot. My sad little voice in the air, calling out in disbelief. At first I didn't believe it, didn't believe that he shot me, that he would shoot me. I guess from now on I'll know better then to hand him a loaded gun. Right now, none of that mattered, right now, I just wanted to get out of here, and I just wanted Sam.

"Right" I said slumping back into the surprisingly comfortable bed. It smelled like old people and petroleum jelly…but I'd slept on worse. The man stepped forward, and I noticed he had a lab coat on, he must be a doctor, well of course he was, he was in my hospital room with a very official looking clipboard.

"Any idea how that could have happened?" He asked and for a second my words got trapped in my throat. They were in such a rush to get out that they got tangled up in each other and couldn't make it.

"No" I lied, I sounded confident, I always did…it's a gift. The doctor nodded, he must have thought I was experiencing some sort of memory loss, or some medical crap, whatever, I'll take any excuses I can get.

"You also had some quite unusual injuries" he said staring at me like some kind of freak. I looked right back at him the same way…I refuse to be ogled!

"Surprise me" I said sarcastically and I saw the small smile tug at his lips as he read from his clipboard again.

"You, are a salted piece of meat" he said. Touché doctor. I remember that very clearly, the look on Sammy's face as he pulled the trigger, on me. It hurt like hell, but it wasn't fatal, not physically anyway. "And I can honestly say I've never seen that sort of injury before." We obviously didn't run in the same circles. He went on and on about how cracked my ribs were, how widespread my bruising was how remarkable it was that I had gone so long without medical attention. _Try four weeks with a broken finger_. I thought, but no…we were dealing with normal people here. He blabbed on and on in medi-speak, thinking I could understand him. Sam would love this guy. When he was finally done, and my eyes were official glazed over he took a deep breath and gave me a sideways glance,

"I'm going to need to know your name" he said and I nodded.

"Dean Winchester." Hell, I've given so many aliases over the years that by now, my real name _is _an alias. He rubbed his chin with his hand and wrote something at the bottom of his clipboard with a tired look in his eyes he turned back to me. He looked at me like I was fragile, like I would break. That made me mad, I was strong, I've always been strong, and just because Sammy got it into his head that we needed to go to the hospital didn't make me weak. "So, is that it? Can I go now?" I asked motioning to stand up, and the old guy laughed at me. He _laughed_.

"No, you won't be able to leave for a couple of days; you're still pretty banged up." _May I make a reference to the finger thing again? _"You can leave once it is determined that you're completely healed." Screw that, I'm leaving as soon as Sammy and I can sneak out.

"Okay" I said sinking back into my hospital pillow again. The doctor smiled at me,

"You press that button if you need anything" he said pointing to a green button to my left. _If I push it will it make it so that Sammy never shot me? Never hated me? Or how about paying the medical bill for me so I didn't have to sneak out? I'd take that. _I nodded, and had already decided to ignore him as he walked out. I leaned back and closed my eyes. Sammy must be in the waiting room, he'd be worried sick…or would he? No, he probably just threw me out of the car and took off…_stop it, you're being stupid. _That's not Sammy. No matter how much I like to think that he hates me, I know that he loves me. Somewhere deep down in that pit of anger, I'm still his hero.

I lost Sammy long before he went off to college; I lost him even before he insisted on being called Sam. I lost him the day he looked at me and didn't see strength anymore. The day he saw me as annoyingly over-protective, the day he first wanted out. He'll never know how hard I fought for him to be able to leave me. But he deserves everything I've got, even if he doesn't think so. I shook myself out of the emotion I was in and was contented to stare at the ceiling for a while. I almost had my mind blank when I heard voices outside the door. It was Sammy, I could tell his voice apart from anyone else's, even if we were separated by a few inches of wood-like material. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but I could hear Sam's voice shake. The doctor opened the door, and in stepped my brother. Damn I was happy to see him. He looked horrible, his eyes were red and his face was smudged with dirt, his hands were shaking and he looked ghostly pale. He just stood in the doorway looking at me, as if I was made of glass. Damn it, the next person that even starts to think I'm fragile will get their ass kicked!

"You look horrible" I said to him, and I saw some of the guilt leave him as a small smile towed at his lips.

"Shut up" he said walking over to the side of my bed. The doctor was still in the room and I saw him smile, like he thought we were heart warming or something. I glared at him _leave us alone, can't you see he's close to a breakdown? _To my surprise he backed out understandingly like he could read my thoughts. Maybe doctors weren't so bad after all.

Sam looked so damned guilty, I just wanted to hug him and tell him it'd be okay…you tell anyone that, I'll kill you. Seriously, I know seventeen ways to kill someone with a toothpick.

"Dean I'm…" He started off weakly, and seeing his watery eyes I did not like the way this conversation was going.

"Save it, Sammy" I said and I saw hurt flash across his face. I didn't mean it like that; I just wanted him to let me talk. "You tried to kill me…again. But it wasn't your fault." I said and he laughed a little.

"I can see how you can say Jess's death wasn't my fault…or that my life in general isn't my fault. But I'm pretty sure that this is my fault" he said and I sighed _you're missing the point Sammy_. Not the direction I was going for.

"No, it's not. I handed you the loaded gun, I told you to shoot me, it sounds pretty cut and dry to me." Sam ran a hand through his hair, I saw that he was going to try to come up with an argument to challenge me, but he wasn't going to win, and he knew it. He heaved a sigh and shook his head at me.

"Why are you defending me? I shot you!" He sounded so desperate, like he wanted me to be mad at him, like that would make him feel better, I wasn't going to give him the pleasure.

"I'm your big brother, it's what I do." I said, it was my answer to everything, and I knew Sam couldn't bring himself to argue with it.

"Damn it, Dean…can't you just be mad at me, punch me or something?" He asked and I almost laughed at him, but he looked so pitiful. I sighed and scratched the back of my head. This was going to be awkward, but he wanted to talk and it had to be asked.

"I just want to know what I did…I mean, why do you hate me so much?" I knew it sounded pathetic, but I had to know.

"I don't hate you, Dean. Is that what you think?" He sounded so confused; I was beginning to regret asking at all.

"Well, you did shoot me…twice…tonight." I said and he sighed, his head dropping to his chest. I didn't want to see him cry, because that might make me cry and that is defiantly _not_ an option.

"I don't hate you, I hate hunting. I hate this life." He said, his voice betraying his emotions. I _had_ to say something to make it better. And before I could hold myself back the words slipped out.

"Sometimes, I hate it too" I said. He looked shocked,

"Really?" He asked and I nodded. "But this is your life" he said, he sounded so disbelieving. Like he had never thought that I might have wanted anything besides hunting for my life.

"Yeah, how sad is that?" I asked a sly smirk on my face. He sighed and shook his head,

"Don't you love hunting?" I looked at him with disbelief in my eyes. Did he really think that all I ever wanted was to hunt? That I never had any dreams beyond that?

"I love saving people, but sometimes I wish I was doing something else…anything else." Sammy was looking at me like I was some sort of alien. I didn't like it, but I thought that somehow he was beginning to understand. "You don't think I wish everyday that Mom hadn't died? That Dad had been able to get over it? That our lives were different? But no matter how hard I wish, that'll never happen, and I've learned to accept that…okay, Sammy?" He didn't say anything, he just looked at me, I was beginning to get nervous when he finally opened his mouth.

"Dean, I had no idea…I just thought that I was the one that wanted out all the time… that I was the freak" I sighed,

"Dude, you're still a freak. It's just sometimes…I wish things were… different." Sam nodded and smiled sadly, I didn't think you could smile sadly, but he can.

"Me too. God, I don't know if I can take this much longer Dean, I don't know if I can keep this up." I couldn't let him crumble. It would kill me if he left, he's all I've got left, and I can't do this without him. I _won't_ do this without him.

"Sam, if you leave me I won't be able to keep going." I meant it, and my voice was as steady as I could make it, although I hate to think that it may have given away my emotional state. I saw a look in his eyes that proved that he might finally get it. That he might finally understand what he means to me.

"I won't leave" he said, a slight smile spreading across his face. It was irritatingly smug.

"What're you smiling about?" I asked smirking and he shrugged, playing the innocent.

"Nothing" he said stuffing his hands into his pockets, "but I think you just said you needed me." I looked at him, eyes wide. What was he stupid? Of course I needed him! He was my Sammy, I'd _always _need him, but I couldn't let him know that.

"Shut up…jerk."

_Coming soon…the boys sneak out of a hospital bill, and the watchers identity is revealed._


	7. The Last Chapter

I saw the terror in Sam's eyes when Dean went down, the confusion, and the hurt. I was silently relieved to see him feel something for Dean. I knew he wouldn't be able to fix his brother now, not now…not like this. So I gave him that extra push; that little bit of oomph he needed to keep going, to save his brother. 'Hospital' I whispered. The word was carried through the air, and I knew he heard it. He didn't know it was me, but he heard it, and he was going to do it. Good boy, Sam.

Off they went and off I followed. Sam drove like a madman, it was hard to keep up, but I did. I was watching as Sam tore himself apart in that waiting room, it was hard to feel sorry for him. He should sweat it out a little, he _had_ shot his brother. At first I couldn't believe it, Dean couldn't either. The kid was weak, I saw it then, I see it now. It's a good thing his brother is so strong, or Sam…well, he might not make it.

At first he looked so angry, so cold. I can't remember ever seeing him like that. He had never been that mad at Dean…ever. Me, sure he had been that mad at me, but never at Dean.

But slowly, ever so slowly, I saw him change. I saw as his thoughts moved towards his brother and I saw as the anger faded from his hunched form. I saw the sigh that made his entire body shudder, and I started to feel for him again. I wanted to tell him, in my awkward way, that everything would be okay and then I wanted to grip him by the collar and ask him what the hell he was thinking, I wanted to stare him down, and make him really see what he did to his brother. What he's still doing toDean.Instead, I just watched.

The sadness that followed his anger was inevitable, but he should be sad. Not that I was particularly worried, Dean could handle it. It's just that he knew he shouldn't have pulled that trigger, I knew it too. Sam was the last thing Dean had, and this just might shatter him, and I knew that neither of us could take a shattered Dean. Both of us needed to believe that Dean Winchester is invincible.

I couldn't understand why he would have done it, how he could have done it; but that was for another time, another discussion in the future. Every lesson he ever got was about keeping people alive, and killing the evil…not the other way around. He was keeping the evil alive in himself, and killing an innocent...okay, a not-so-innocent. But still,a hunter isn't supposed to kill people, _Sammy_ isn't supposed to kill people. Especially not Dean, he loved Dean, he watched his back, and the sooner he came to terms with the fact that his brother was all he had… the better.

I watched as he forced out the lies, I watched proudly as he fought back his emotion to give the right answers. Smart boy. Nobody noticed me as I slipped in after the nurses wheeled Dean in on a gurney, Sam didn't notice me as he fought with himself in that crappy plastic chair in the overly crowded waiting room. That was how I wanted it, years of experience made me capable of being practically, if not totally, invisible.

He must have felt me staring at him, but he didn't look up at me…it's for the best. It's a handy skill to have, being invisible. I watched the doctors talk about them; talked about exactly how much it would cost to patch Dean up. No way in Hell they were paying that.

I hate hospitals, too many people, all asking questions. And they all look at you…with their eyes. Plus they have lots of doctors. Damned doctors, so hollow, they always think that they're right. They think they know exactly how your children should be raised; they think they know what an eight year old can take. They didn't know my eight year old.

I watched, as I've been watching as Sam was led by that professional looking man to Dean's room. I heard Sam deny the existence of Sammy, and I knew that if Dean had heard it would have ripped out his heart. Sammy would always be there to Dean, would always be his kid brother, whether _Sam _liked it or not.

I watched, through the fuzzy window in the door, as they talked. I watched them make up, it's so great to see two tearful tough guys work something out, I wanted to reach out to them… they didn't even look my way. Finally, whatever had separated them was no more, their wall had been broken down, and it looked like it would be alright. I never doubted that it would be really, they were bonded too tightly, they had each other, and that was it. And neither of them would trade their brother for the world.

I watched in the hall as Dean pulled himself out of bed at four in the morning, he didn't even wince, strong boy. He was so strong now…so strong. Stronger then Sam, well he had always been stronger then Sam…but stronger then me. Yes, he was stronger then me now. I quickly ran back down the hallway as I heard his door click open, I couldn't risk being seen.

I watched as Sam pulled up in front of the emergency door, ready for his brother, just as they had planned. I watched as they skipped out on the bill, Dean making a rude gesture towards the security camera, and tipping his head to the guard as he sauntered out, his old stride was back, and the guard didn't even think of stopping him. He wasn't in hospital clothes, hell no. Sam had brought him back his jacket and boots, and he was walking like a hunter again.

Hell, they needed all the money they had, and who was I to judge? They have taken the moral obligation of payment out of their lives. Why should they pay people for saving them occasionally? They saved hundreds weekly, and no one thanked them...no one _knew._ The job of a hunter is a thankless one, and not paying, well…that's just a job perk. I could feel the guards eyes on me as I left, disbelieving eyes. Hell, in this business the eyes are always disbelieving. I watched as Sam tried to convince Dean to let him drive, I watched and I laughed, hadn't he learned? Dean has been pretty damned hurt before, but he has never been too hurt to drive.

I saw Dean take the keys roughly from his brother, like I knew he would. I watched as they climbed into the car Dean loves so much, Sam muttering about his brother's stubbornness under his breath. I watched as Dean made some snide remark, and as Sam rolled his eyes. I watched from behind the hospital doors as the music was turned up loud enough to tare the skin off your face. I watched, and I smiled as I saw them pull away, I wouldn't follow them any further tonight. I can only imagine the conversation they're having; it brings a smile to my face to think of what Dean might say, and how Sam might react. They were always a good team. Dean makes sure that Sam doesn't get himself killed, and Sam holds Dean together. I miss them, God how I miss them. I miss riding with them, arguing with them, hunting with them, mostly I just miss being with them. My sons, my boys… I can't be with you, not now anyway, not until I know the truth. But I'll always …_always _be watching you.

**A/N: Okay, so I didn't tell you outright, but if you look at the clues it's pretty obvious. Man, I thought that this was going to be a surprise ending. Who told you huh? And who put it in your crazy little heads that it was Mary? May I quote? Yes I think I will: "**Don't get me wrong, I kill things…I'm not exactly what you would call a saint. In fact Dean is after me right now. I hate to say it, but I'm not one of the good guys**." Does that sound like Mary to you? …You may now slap whoever started that rumor upside the head. **

**Ah well, some of you are too smart for me. Yes, it was John…congrats to those who were brilliant enough to figure it out and foil my evil plan for a twist ending. Sorry it was so long but it had to be… I couldn't stop…I have a problem. Well, anyway thanks a bunch for reviewing and everything, love ya! DeedeeSmith**


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